


Birthday Suit

by Apetslife



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-03
Updated: 2012-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 12:56:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/331963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apetslife/pseuds/Apetslife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Joey Fatone and Nick Carter share a birthday.  Did you know that?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Birthday Suit

The room's supposed to be soundproof. He's in a recording studio, for fuck's sake, the room really should be soundproof, completely silent, perfect for a quick nap. He's only got an hour before they want him back, and he really really wants a nap, and that goddamn drummer wherever he is just isn't letting up.

Joey contemplates making a citizens arrest. It can't be legal to abuse a high-hat like that. Then he imagines storming into the studio, throwing his not-inconsiderable weight around, and getting whoever it is fired, stat. But he can't. Justin would. Hell, JC would, if his precious sleep was being interrupted. But they aren't here, just Joey and a couch and the dimmed lights, and slapping his hands over his ears just isn't working at all.

He sighs as he rolls off the couch to his feet, rubbing heavy hands through his hair. Checks his watch; he's got 55 minutes left of precious, irreplaceable naptime, though now he's so irritated and edgy he doesn't think he's got much chance of actually sleeping. Fucking Wade and his fucking psychotic dance routines. Joey only got this hour because it's his birthday and the fact that he's rehearsing at *all* on his birthday is so far beyond cruel and unusual that even Lance was on his side.

The sound is much louder in the hall, and he winces. Heavy foot on the bass drum, and that roll is just going on way too long. Normally he'd be all for someone venting a little aggression on a drum set, but considering where they are, he just hopes whoever it is hasn't fucked up tracks all over the building. And no wonder it's so loud...the door to the smaller studio is cracked open, and he almost winces at the noise as he walks closer.

The set is huge, looming like some strange monster in the corner, a little raised off the floor, and he can't even really see past the assortment of drums, cymbals, stands, racks, and frames. He sees flashes of hands and sticks, general movement, a flicker as the low lights hit blond hair, and that's it. He groans, and fights through the wall of sound to the corner. Carter?

"Carter?" He doesn't even get a response. Nick's eyes are closed, he's just whaling away, and Joey almost has to grin. The kid's really into it, sweating and biting his lip and moving his whole body with the beat of the bass drum. Joey almost feels bad for intruding, but the memory of his interrupted nap returns, and he reaches out and grabs a stick, mid-roll.

Nick startles back violently, eyes flying open wide and almost falling off his stool. He teeters precariously for a moment, arm flailing wide, and Joey hauls him back onto solid ground with his drumstick.

"Fuck!" Nick drops the sticks like they're hot, braces his hands on his knees, and looks like he's about to come over the low-hung snare at Joey. "What the fuck, dude? Where the hell-"

"Easy." Joey puts his own hands in the air in what he hopes is a peaceful gesture. "No harm. You forgot to shut the door, is all. You were about to bring the building down."

"So shut the door when you leave." Nick's shrug is elegantly careless. "Like I could care." His eyes flicker guiltily towards the door, though, and Joey grins.

"Don't worry, I don't think there's anyone recording right now. Good thing too, or you'd have got a lot worse than me telling you to shut the hell up so I can nap."

Nick sneers a little, and Joey wonders briefly what would happen if his face froze like that. Probably nothing; most times he sees Nick the kid's looking pissy in one way or another.

"Yeah, you look like you need it." Blue eyes rake him from sweat-stiff hair to sneaker-clad feet, and Joey scowls back.

"Fuck off. It's rehearsal, and don't even play like you don't know what that's like. What the hell are you doing here anyway? Shouldn't you be out masturbating or crying publicly or something?"

Nick's wince is so quick he almost misses it, but he immediately feels that sinking in his stomach that means he'll be feeling shitty about what he said in a second. "Sorry, sorry," he apologizes before it can get too bad. "No offence."

"Oh, none taken," Nick's voice is surprisingly dry. "All in a day's work." Joey cringes a little, knowing what that feels like.

"You can call me a fat whore if it'll help," he offers hopefully, trying to make it right. Chris always says that Joey is too nice, but it really comes down to a deep distaste for the idea that anyone's mad at him. Nick actually laughs, but it's short and kind of harsh.

"You're a fat whore, Fatone." He tilts his head, and Joey's suddenly put in mind of puppies. "Nope, it didn't help much. Thanks for playing."

"Shit." Joey plops down on the raised edge of the platform, almost getting a cymbal-stand leg someplace fairly delicate. "How about...huh. Talentless moron?" Nick chuckles, a positive sign. "Useless mooch? Bloated wannabe? Least important member of Justin and the Timberlakes?" A glance tells him that Nick's got a hand over his mouth, now, and his eyes are twinkling. He grins back. "There are so many to choose from. You can take your pick, really."

"It's just not the same when you're telling me to say them," Nick admits, finally lowering his hand to show his smile. It's bright and white and Joey's glad to see it. "Plus I think you already got all the good ones." He smacks the cymbal by Joey's head, and the sound hums in Joey's brain. Ouch. "What the hell are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be doing poppin' fresh things on the second floor?"

"We are no longer poppin' fresh," Joey intones with as much dignity as he can. "We are now movin' groovin' dance machines. Or so I've been told. But it's my birthday, and they gave me a break so I'd stop bitching. I think. Either that or they're planning a surprise party, or maybe plotting to kick me out of the band. Either way, you fucked up my nap."

"Oh, right." Nick sighs, and thumps a drum lightly. "Happy birthday, and shit. What are you now, thirty-five?"

"Ha fucking ha. I think you must be thinking of Richardson. Has he applied for medicaid yet?" Joey puts a finger on the drumhead, making the tone go flat and stale, and Nick scowls.

"Kevin's younger than Chris-" and Joey breaks in, impatient.

"Yeah, and Justin's younger than you, and AJ is older than Lance but younger than JC, and what are we, twelve? Like anyone cares. What's with the age-" He breaks off, and light dawns. "Oh, hey, happy birthday, Nick."

"Thanks." Nick's mouth twists unhappily. "As you can see, it's kicking ass *so* far."

"Yeah, you're in here trying to beat holes in Jive's nice sparkly new drumset." Joey nods. "Why is that exactly?"

"Band meeting with management. There was screaming, I left." Nick's pout is intensifying. "They can make me be here on my birthday, but damned if I'm gonna sit there and listen to someone bitch at me."

"Look on the bright side," Joey advises, stretching his aching legs straight out in front of him. "You could be having your spine ripped out by a sadistic double-jointed choreographer who thinks everyone's as bendy as JC."

"I'd rather dance any day." Joey almost laughs in his face, and Nick catches the snort, because his tone turns defensive. "What? You're telling me you'd rather hear some asshole in a suit whine about...about unimportant petty shit for like three hours than shake a little booty? You're full of shit."

Joey lets the laugh go, this time. "Shake a little booty? Where the hell have you been? This ain't dancing, it's torture. I mostly sleep through meetings anyway."

"Not these meetings." Nick's pout is back.

"Eh." Joey shrugs noncomittally. He's not going to argue the point; frankly, both options sound pretty terrible. "So, big plans for tonight?"

"Not really." Nick hits the cymbal again, and Joey contemplates hitting Nick. "I'm currently grounded, I guess."

Joey feels his eyebrows go up. "Aren't you a little old for that?"

"Tell them that." He jerks a rude finger ceilingward. "I've been...what did they say? Indiscreet. A bad bad Boy. No cookie for me."

"Oh, right." Joey's memory, never great, supplies him with blurry images of Nick in handcuffs. "Still, though, your birthday? That's cold. Couldn't they just assign you a keeper or something?"

"I have to learn my lesson." Nick's doing a remarkable impression of that VP guy from public relations that JC hates so much, low, New York accented voice and all. "The band can't tolerate scandal, you know. We have to be very careful right now." He nods at Joey very seriously.

Joey grins at him, understanding just how he feels. "Dude, you gotta just sort of take that kind of thing as a suggestion. You're a big boy now, you gotta break free."

Nick snorts and rolls his eyes. "You always this cheesy, Fatone?"

"Yeah." Joey cracks his neck and sighs in relief. Fucking Wade. He really, really doesn't want to go back to rehearsal. In fact...

"Hey." Big blue eyes snap to his face, and he realizes he was maybe a little loud, there. "Hey, man. It's your birthday, right, and you don't wanna be here. And it's my birthday, and I don't wanna be here. What do you say we just go?"

"Go?" Nick's looking at him like he's nuts, but he's grinning, so Joey figures it's not a totally bad idea. "Go where? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"You know." Joey shrugs, feeling a little sheepish. "Ditch security, sneak out the back, go get beers and some strippers or something. You know, normal birthday stuff."

Nick snickers a little, stings him with a drumroll. "I don't think you'd like the strippers I like. And I'm not drinking much, these days. Got any more bright ideas?"

Joey tries to imagine strippers he wouldn't like. Fails. He looks at Nick, mouth open to speak, and is cut off by Nick's arch expression. Ohhhh.

His poor tired head is just thrumming with questions, most of the "whu?" and "really?" and "why the hell are you telling *me*?" variety, but he tries to stay focused on the topic at hand.

"Strippers?" He offers again, weakly. Strippers are a birthday tradition for him. Since he turned eighteen, people have been taking their clothes off for him on January 28, and damned if he's going to change that now. Lance won't do strippers any more, he's morally opposed now that he's got a girlfriend, and since Lance is planning his party this year, this might be his only chance.

"Fine," Nick says, grinning wickedly. "But I get to choose the place."

Joey wonders when this idea got completely out of his control.

***

Nick's really not drinking, but Joey's making up for it. It's probably some kind of coping mechanism, he tells himself solemnly. He managed to shower quickly, change, leave a voicemail on Lance's cell phone, and sneak out of the studio without thinking much about what he was about to do, but the evidence is now at hand, and it's a little harder to ignore.

That man is wearing purple chaps. Nothing else, just purple chaps. Joey chugs his beer.

Nick hasn't stopped smirking since he ushered Joey in through the small unmarked door. He nodded casually at the bouncer, so Joey figures it's probably okay for him to be there. After all, he hasn't seen any headlines proclaiming Nick Carter's Male Strip Club Scandal!, and Nick seems like a regular. He even knows the bartender. The bartender is wearing a fishnet shirt that, in context, seems remarkably tasteful. Or maybe Joey's just predisposed to like him, since he's lining up the beers.

The music changes, and the small groups of men milling around the open floor turn to the stage. Nick leans over, and Joey thinks sourly that he's starting to get tired of looking at this boy's teeth. Does he ever stop grinning?

"You want to pay attention to this. It's really quite a show." Joey groans, but turns, firmly resolved. People are taking their clothes off. It's his birthday. This is mostly familiar territory.

It's standard stripper music, slow and grinding, and the spotlights over the long catwalk start to sweep back and forth. Joey nods approvingly, even as he braces himself. Nick's grooving a little on his stool, soda cradled in long pale fingers, and Joey grins. The kid looks pretty happy to be here, and Joey wonders if maybe he's glad to have company. He tries unsuccessfully to picture Brian Littrell accompanying Nick on one of his excursions here. Damn shame, too, because Nick's all lit up and smiling. Joey knows some of it is from watching him squirm, but he looks like he's genuinely having fun, too.

The man who comes through the curtain is tall and red haired and wearing a business suit. Joey's eyebrows go up; he looks like one of Lance's accountants. The resemblance ends abruptly when the guy grabs one of the long poles and twists around it, flipping his tie over his shoulder and licking his lips. Joey swallows. Even Justin's hips don't do...that. Nick hums, beside him, and Joey risks a glance over. His lips are still curved up, but he's totally focused on the stage, and his body's gone still. He looks intent. Joey swallows again, and turns away.

Joey finds himself comparing the stripper to people he knows as the suit slowly comes off, and wonders if it's another coping mechanism. His shoulders aren't as broad as Justin's. He's got a tattoo on his back that looks like Chris's dragon. His skin is a little paler and smoother than Lance's. Wrists as slender as Nick's--

Nick's?

The crowd howls appreciatively as dark pants fall to the floor, and the dancer keeps dancing, dropping to the stage and writhing slowly to the beat. Joey's seat at the elevated bar gives him a direct view. Clearly, there's something wrong with this beer, because it's making him breathe funny, and his throat feels tight. His leg twitches, twice, and his hands tighten around the cold bottle. The stripper's up on his knees now, hips jacking forward towards the hands holding bills, propped on his hands, head thrown back, clean curving line from throat to knees. He's in great shape. Joey can appreciate that, in a totally aesthetic, nonsexual way. His leg thumps again, and he catches Nick's glance, and blushes. For no reason.

The song's over, and the DJ is smarming into the PA. The dancer's standing, flirting a little with the mass of men pressed against the stage, grinning and swinging his hips a little as he strolls off. Joey thinks that G-string looks mighty uncomfortable, and he certainly isn't noticing the smooth hollow where the groove of spine deepens into something else.

Nick bumps his shoulder, and Joey snaps his eyes around.

"He's good, huh?" Nick's eyes are alight with humor, crinkled at the corners, though his mouth is serious. "That's Patrick. We can meet him later, if you want."

"What?" He blurts, then blushes again, and curses. "Why would I...no. Thank you, but no."

Nick glances knowingly at his lap, then shrugs elaborately and sips at his drink. "Your call." He doesn't move away again, and he's too close, and Joey doesn't like it. Well, he does, Nick's big and friendly and it's good to have company, but it seems dangerous, somehow. He stares into his empty bottle, and contemplates another. Maybe another will make his skin stop prickling, make him stop noticing the way Nick's fingers are picking at the label on one of his empty bottles, simple repetitive motion that he can't look away from. What is this sudden thing he has for hands?

The bartender's not only a snappy dresser, he might also be psychic, because he's got a fresh drink in front of Joey before Joey can even call him over. He winks at Joey, nods at Nick, and moves away.

"So, you come here often?" Joey's just looking for something to say, and doesn't realize what it sounds like until Nick explodes into laughter, bending over at the waist and chortling madly. "Shut up," Joey snaps, though he smiles reluctantly at Nick's open glee. "I just meant you seem like a regular."

"Y-yeah," Nick manages to get out through giggles, and then pulls himself together with visible effort. "I mean, kind of. I've been here a couple of times, they're quiet here and it's safe. And the dancers are hot. Don't you think?" His smile is inviting Joey to share the joke, and Joey's never been able to resist that kind of thing. He smiles back.

"Yeah, pretty hot, I guess."

Nick whoops and slaps his shoulder. "There you go! Getting into the spirit of it. Want some dollars to go stick in their thongs?"

"Um, no, not at all, really." The beer has reached Joey's head, it's the only reason he'd even have considered saying yes. "Thanks for the offer, but no."

"Aw." Nick slouches back against the bar, sulking prettily and ignoring the cell phone that begins to trill insistently in his pocket. "You're no fun. It's my birthday, you should do what I want."

"It's *my* birthday, and I'll do what *I* want," Joey counters easily. "You got me to a male strip club without using restraints or blackmail, so count yourself lucky." Speaking of strippers, the music's starting again, and Nick isn't even looking. Joey's the focus of those eyes, now, and he shivers a little, because they're really very blue and they've got him pinned. "Anyway, why don't you go use those dollars yourself?" He looks away to the stage, where a guy with a totally improbable bulge in his pants is pretending to ride a horse, it looks like. He doesn't like this guy as much as the accountant. Maybe it's the cowboy hat that's throwing him off.

"I'm particular about who gropes me," Nick explains, following his eyes to the stage, "and that crowd's a little free with its hands."

"Mmm," Joey agrees, watching. It's not something he usually has to worry about at strip clubs, much, but this is definitely a different scene. "And yet you were going to toss me to the wolves. Nice, Carter."

"Hey, I just want to make sure you get the full experience. It being your birthday and all." Nick's looking noble, and Joey knows for sure it's bullshit. "I'd hate for you to go away...unsatisfied." He curls the last word out, Joey can almost taste the sibiliants, and he's starting to get irritated at the way this blond child is making him twitch.

"Well, let's just say getting scarred for life isn't high on my list of birthday wishes." He narrows his eyes at Nick in the way that always makes Justin back off when he's being a tease, but Nick just laughs.

"Yeah, okay, I'll take it under advisement." But when he leans back against the bar again, his shoulder is touching Joey's, warm and solid, and Joey can't bring himself to move away. There's something about a strip club. All these people thinking about sex; it infects the air, somehow, makes it heavier or sweeter or something that Joey can't quite put his finger on. All kinds of kinky things seem possible in a strip club, that probably wouldn't even occur to him in the light of day. And right now, having the best looking guy in the room propped against his side doesn't feel like such a bad thing at all.

The next act makes him jump, though, and Nick almost drops his drink.

"What?" He demands, looking over, and Joey points.

"That is a woman."

"No, actually, that is a man, who is dressed like a woman." Nick sounds very patient.

"Dude, I know women, and that's a woman. Those are *tits*." He's sure of it. Positive. He's pleased and surprised, and smiling, because hey! Looks like he'll be getting a standard-issue stripper on his birthday after all.

"I'll bet you a grand it ain't." Nick sounds too smug, and Joey's reminded that Nick's been here before, and sighs, deflating. "Aw, hey." Nick's arm snakes around his back before Joey even realizes what's going on. "It's not so bad, right? Robbie *looks* like a woman. I'll bet he'd be totally flattered." There's a hand on his hip that wasn't there before, and Joey's just drunk enough (he thinks) to let it stay there. It's a nice hand, and it's not really doing anything bad. Plus, the woman-man-whatever is doing a really sexy dance, and Joey's busy watching. Maybe possibly getting a little turned on. Those are some legs, right there. And oh my god, a split. Maybe Nick's wrong, because he's never seen a guy do-

Nick's not wrong, and Joey's still turned on. This is officially his strangest birthday ever.

***

Nick is a good guy, Joey thinks fuzzily an hour later. A really great guy, a prince. He had the whole place singing happy birthday to them, and Joey's pretty sure you haven't lived till you've seen a big 'ol leather queen arm in arm with a fairy princess warbling the birthday song to two boyband members in a gay strip joint. He thinks maybe there's a life lesson in that somewhere, but he's too drunk and horny to figure it out.

Nick's laughing, and Joey wonders if he's been thinking out loud again. He isn't that drunk, but the weirdness of the situation is getting to him. The laughter makes Nick kind of rock against him, and Joey likes that. It feels friendly. Nick's a friendly guy, after all. He's also kind of shining under the multicolored lights, red mouth and white skin and gold hair, in a way that makes Joey want to touch.

Whoa. Even weirder than he'd thought.

"Okay, okay, you have to pay attention." Nick's hands turn him slightly so he's facing the catwalk. "This one's really good. It'll make you laugh, I swear."

Joey's not sure he's in much of a laughing place, right now, but he's willing to try.

"This is why I came in here the first time," Nick adds, leaving his hands on Joey's shoulders and leaning against his back lightly. "I heard this and I couldn't pass it up, coming in to check it out."

"If this is one of our songs..." Joey warns, pushing his shoulders back into that warm weight just a little. Nick probably takes this as approval, since he settles even closer.

"No, no." Joey can hear the grin, right there by his ear. "Better."

As the first chords drop, Joey has to agree.

"I always thought this was kind of a stripper song," he shouts back to Nick over the catcalls of the crowd and the slinky grinding beat.

"Hey Mr. DJ, keep playin' this song for me," Nick sings in reply, into his ear, and Joey laughs. Laughs harder when he sees the dancer, tall and blond, dressed in what can only be a Backstreet Boys costume, come slinking out onto the stage.

"Whoa." With very little warmup, the dancer shreds his shirt down the front. He's gone all out, he's even got tattoos snaking all down his arms and shoulders and something suspiciously familiar around his navel, and Joey wonders who he's supposed to be. AJ and Nick's lovechild, maybe? He shakes with laughter at the thought, and Nick's arms tighten on him, and Nick's voice is in his ear, demanding to be let in on the funny.

"Dude, I think he has some identity issues," Joey shouts, still laughing, and Nick bumps him.

"He's a stripper, Joey, he doesn't have identity issues!" Joey opens his mouth to explain, then just gives it up. For one thing, twisting around so Nick can hear him is making his neck hurt. For another, the guy is teasing the crowd, now, stripped to the waist and making no move to go further, but every beat of the music gets a grind so lewd that Joey's starting to sweat. His eyes are beginning to hurt, he's staring so hard.

Tattoos aside, the stripper really does look kind of like Nick, he thinks. Big and broad, blond, but his skin is too dark and his face...Joey shakes his head a little. Not even close. Nose too big, face too narrow, eyes too close together. And possibly brown, though Joey can't tell from here. He stops looking at the face, it's ruining it for him. Nick's still wrapped around him, rocking him with the beat a little, and it's not even warm any more. Joey is hot. Overheated. He raises his hand to wipe a little at his forehead, and Nick laughs low, again, right there in his ear, and it sounds like everything wicked. Joey shivers.

AJ growls on the track, and the dancer takes his cue, shimmying out of the tight black leather. Long legs, long, long, and little mesh barely-there, Joey can see a dark curl of hair and wonders if Nick's a natural blond. Just a flash of thought, here and gone, because a long-fingered hand cups between the dancer's legs, and his hips are moving like liquid, and Nick's mouth is on his neck. Joey loses what's left of his mind, because he's never felt anything like it. It turns him boneless. The dancer's staring at them and smiling a little; he knows they're there, he knows who they are, he can see what they're doing. Joey's jealous; he himself is completely lost. Nick's hands are on his hips, his lips moving soft and wet just below Joey's ear, and Joey's arching back helplessly, eyes still locked on the guy on the stage. He can't remember ever being this hard; it's like every breath he takes, that Nick takes, shoots little sparks down to his cock, tightening the tension another notch. His hands are shaking. It's all Nick's fault.

The breath he hadn't known he'd been holding whooshes out when the dancer pumps his pelvis once, twice, then slides into a suggestive sprawl on the last chord. It's over, it's done, maybe Nick will let go now, and everything will go back to normal.

Nick doesn't move. Nothing is normal. The crowd is howling and catcalling and throwing money at the stage; the dancer's up and grinning and making the rounds. Nick's still draped over his back like a second skin, still lapping at that one little place. It's hypersensitive now, and Joey can feel the tip of Nick's nose, the press of his mouth, the soft teasing tongue. He wants to say something, but there seems to be something wrong with his throat. Stupid defective beer. He tries again, and is shocked to hear himself moan.

"If I take you home with me," Nick's voice is warm, "will you let me suck your dick?" Joey jumps, and his brain struggles manfully to get back online.

"Pr-probably not," breathlessly honest, because once he gets out of this hot sticky-sweet place, the dark and the press of male bodies and the boys sucking on each others tongues a table over and the too-heavy air, he thinks he'll probably run screaming. He's pretty sure.

"It's my birthday," Nick reminds him, words humming over his skin. "Yours too. You should do what I...what *we* want, today."

"Too much time," Joey gasps out, hoping Nick will understand. Time to get out of the club, get in a car, drive, lose this warm melting feeling in his belly, think. Too much time and it'll all be over, his chance will slip away.

"Okay." Nick's moving, letting go? No! But he's just walking backwards, turning Joey around so they're face to face, dragging him along. Joey almost stumbles when he sees Nick's face again. There's a flush high on his cheeks and his eyes are glittering hectically, his mouth wet and red and chapped-looking. He's so beautiful Joey can't remember how to walk.

"Come on, come on," Nick's chanting under his breath, and Joey somehow gets his feet moving again, walking as he's towed. They weave between tables, fielding smirks and, Joey's pretty sure, some envy. Nick ignores them all, just ducks into a hallway by the bar. Joey sees a sign and is reminded suddenly that he's had a lot of beer and not a single trip to the can, and tugs the hand that Nick's holding.

"What?" Nick spins and looks worried out of all proportion to the delay, and Joey realizes that Nick thinks he's leaving. He almost laughs. A SWAT team wouldn't get him out of that hallway right now.

"Gotta piss." He gestures at the door. "Two seconds." Nick nods and lets go, and Joey breathes and pushes through the door. He carefully doesn't think about it.

It's maybe closer to a minute later when he re-emerges, shaking his head. He didn't know that the human mouth could *do* tha-

Nick's propped against the wall, knee bent, arms crossed, chin tipped down and mouth sulky, and Joey's last reservation flies away. Sweet mother of fuck, the boy is a sexpot, and Joey's more than happy to try to make his birthday a happy one. He feels the grin tugging at his lips, and he walks to Nick and keeps on moving, walking Nick right back into the wall, feeling him jerk in surprise when Joey fists hands into his hair and dives in. Joey's always prided himself on being an all or nothing kind of guy, and fuck if he's gonna let this go any further without tasting that mouth.

Pushy brat, he thinks, still grinning against Nick's teeth as Nick nips at him, trying to get control back. Pretty, pushy brat, he amends, as Nick softens a little, letting Joey lick his tongue. He tastes like warm pepsi and boy, and his arms under Joey's fingers are tensing and relaxing, and then there's a hand on his ass and Joey laughs and Nick bites his tongue.

"Brat." He can't help it, he's grinning stupidly and laughing and he wants that mouth on his cock right fucking now. Nick grins back, and Joey kisses him again, running his tongue over those extra-long, sharp canines. Fucking sexy. Nick wiggles against him and makes a little high sharp sound, and Joey's really glad that Nick's tall, because their hips are lining up just about right and he's grinding before he can stop himself, and Nick's got something nice to grind against. Big and hard, and Joey can almost smell the sex.

"Maybe we should not be in the hallway," Nick's words are muffled into the kiss, but it's still just about the most brilliant idea Joey's ever heard, and he steps back and lets Nick fall back to the wall, panting. He pushes off almost immediately, and grabs Joey's wrist, and Joey's more than happy to follow him through the door.

Small room, dark, and he thinks there's maybe a couple of other people in here, judging from the sounds. He doesn't care. He can't see them, they can't see him, it's all good. Nick spins him around, and now he's the one with his back to the wall, and god bless every male hormone in the world because Nick's on his knees and Joey can see the top of his head and the groan almost takes his throat out when those clever hands get to work on his zipper. He's suddenly very glad he showered, since there's nothing much nastier than sweaty balls.

Blond hair is slippery and cool between his fingers, and Nick smiles up at him for an instant before leaning in and licking him. Oh dear sweet oh fuck oh shit oh Nick...motherfucking cocksucking genius boy and he must have sold his soul to the devil for a tongue like that because it's wrapping around Joey's dick all slick and wet and then he's in. He's trying really hard not to push, but his pants are suddenly down around his ankles and fingers at his ass and he jumps forward like he's been shocked because *whoa*, never knew he had nerves there like that and he's sliding down Nick's throat smooth as honey and twice as sweet, and Joey's world goes blank.

There's an echo in his head that makes him think he maybe screamed when he was coming. Nick licks him again, sucks gently and lets him go, and Joey's still shivering, little aftershocks of white pleasure trickling up his spine and across his shoulders and pricking at his neck.

Nick pushes to his feet, only staggering a little, and from the looks of things, he's kind of fond of sucking dick. Joey's glad. People should always be happy doing things they fucking rule at. He's still hard, and Joey quails for a moment, his beer- and orgasm-sodden brain trying frantically to remember all the tips JC had handed out when he was going through his sharing phase. No teeth, Joey remembers that one. That's an important one.

"Here, hey." He grabs for Nick as he starts to move away, maybe interpreting Joey's hesitation as unwillingness. "C'mere." He hauls Nick in, kissing his surprised mouth, his cheek, his throat. The hint of stubble is strange against his tongue, but he keeps licking, liking the way the salt burns his kiss-chapped lips. Nick goes liquid against him, sighing in relief, leaning in and tilting his head back. That's a long neck. Pale and smooth and Joey likes it a lot. He moves down, sucking at Nick's collarbone, making a wet spot on black cotton, hands roaming Nick's broad back. There's a lot of Nick to touch, and he feels a pang of disappointment that it's all under clothes. He shakes his head. Maybe later.

Nick's very still when Joey unzips him, canting his pelvis up to help Joey slide his pants down to his thighs. He's a natural blond, Joey thinks, taking a minute to get his bearings, touching lightly with his fingertips. Nick shudders, and when Joey glances up he's got his teeth sunk into his lower lip and his eyes are closed. Does he look like that when he's being fucked? Joey wonders, and laughs at himself a little.

Right. On with the show. He can do this. Lots of people do this, all the time, and if he's not even in the same galaxy as Nick in terms of technique, at least he can show some enthusiasm. He takes a deep breath, and wraps his hand around the base of Nick's cock. It's surprisingly hot and thick, smooth, jumping a little at his touch like it's alive. That's pretty cool. Another deep breath and he leans in, hand holding Nick still, and he lets Nick push in past his teeth.

Nick's making a sound Joey doesn't even have a word for. That's probably a good sign, so he keeps doing what he was starting, sucking on the head like it's a popsicle, hard the way he likes it, then soft. It tastes kind of neat, Joey thinks, a metallic salty tang that's not bad at all, and the slick smoothness of it in his mouth is new and a little amazing. Then Nick's hips buck gently, and he's suddenly got a lot more of it to handle, and his jaw cracks and he gags and chokes and that's not good.

"Whoa, easy..." Nick's hands are in his hair, pulling him off, but he's stubborn. He wants to do this, he's gonna do this. "Sorry, sorry, I won't..." Nick's voice is a distracted mutter, and Joey wonders if that has anything to do with the fact that he's just remembered he has a tongue. He's working it now, sliding it up under the head, tonguing the tiny slit, and Nick's legs start to shake, under Joey's palms. He grins, as well as he's able. This is really fucking cool. Nick's coming apart, and Joey knows how that feels.

"Joey, Joey," Nick's chanting his name now, and Joey's absurdly pleased. He works harder, carefully taking a little more, letting his hand manage the rest. His mouth feels stretched and raw, he's got his eyes squeezed shut, and every breath is heavy with Nick's smell, his taste. Joey's getting hard again, and he's amazed. He thinks this might just be his new favorite hobby. Maybe Nick will let him practice some more.

Big hands moving restlessly on his head, his neck, his shoulders, and he likes that, likes knowing that Nick's still aware he's there. Then they grab, hard, and Nick's voice jumps an octave, "Joey Joey get off get off" but he doesn't like it when other people don't swallow so he's not going to pull away now. How bad can it be?

Not bad at all, really. Smooth pulses against his tongue, a wash of hot salt that goes down smoothly, and Nick sighs and bends and slowly slips down to the floor beside Joey. Joey wipes his mouth with the back of one shaky hand, wincing at the soreness, liking it.

"Fuck." Nick's voice is gravelly. Joey nods agreement, leans against him silently, listening to the grunts and moans around them.

"Fuck, man," Nick repeats, sounding a little more human, and Joey grins.

"Not yet." He has the distinct pleasure of watching Nick do an extreme double-take, then smile, then laugh.

"You know, I brought you here as a total goof. I thought you'd be running for the door in under a minute," Nick admits, chuckling. "And here you are, in the back room. Fuck. I rule."

"Don't get too happy, Carter," Joey warns, still grinning, head still humming a little. "I still think there was something in that beer."

"Yeah, yeah, blame the beer," Nick's eyes roll exaggeratedly. "You took to that like a duck to water. There's a lot of natural talent there, you know. Build it up, you could really have something."

Joey's eyebrows fly up. "Well, I bow before the master." He does, as well as he can while sitting in a boneless lump on the floor. "You're living proof that practice makes perfect."

"Yep." Nick stretches contentedly, yawns, curling his tongue like a cat. "And aren't you lucky?"

"Sure am." He leans into Nick, content to just sit for a while. He's got to go soon; as it is, he'll be lucky to escape with a simple scalping, and he doesn't want to be late to his party.

"You said you weren't doing anything tonight?" He angles a glance at Nick, sees him smile a little. "Nothing much, you said. Surely your management couldn't object to an innocent little birthday party." Nick's beaming, now. "You can even invite your weird friends."

"And put them in a room with *your* weird friends." Nick sounds a little too enthusiastic about that. "An' we can watch Lance and Kevin hiss at each other. Cool, yeah, sounds good. Oh, also, I know a few people." He smirks at Joey like the cat that got the very best cream. "Would you like me to provide the strippers?"

Joey laughs helplessly, and leans into Nick's hold, and laughs some more.

Happy birthday to him.

[end]


End file.
